Killer
by buttercupbella
Summary: "All you can do is play the game." The story of a silent writer and a rebel who become crazy together in the teenage journey of a lifetime- little do they know, there was something far deeper and darker lurking in the fact that they were chosen for the adventure, in which the last item on the itinerary is a series of murders and the one thing that they can never have is trust. NxM
1. Chapter 1

**x**This is the story of two people who love Friday movie nights, dip their burgers in gravy, feast on ketchup packets, vandalize library shelves, write lame-ass diary entries, eat takeaways under the stars, and, unexpectedly, fall in love, bit by bit. This is the story of a silent writer and a rebel who became crazy together in the journey of a lifetime- but little did they know, there was something far deeper and darker lurking in the fact that they were chosen for the adventure, in which the last item on the itinerary was a series of murders, and the one thing that they can never have is trust.**x**

* * *

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

In my defense, I didn't tag along on a stupid camp-slash-road trip of my own free will. My mother thought that it would be a 'refreshing' experience, my father exclaimed that I might find hot girls (to which my mother responded with a glare), and my sister smirked, saying that I could use some time off my books and stories. I found it all horrible because I was bad with people and simply seeing kids of my age pissed me off. Some could say that I seem like a nocturnal because of my hesitation to socialize, but I am not, in any way, one of those 'shining and shimmering' vampires.

No matter how hard I tried to argue that the camp-slash-road trip was expensive (Mom said, "Honey, does being on the Forbes magazine mean anything to you?") and I wouldn't survive in the company of breathing people, here I was, lugging an enormous bag behind me and walking towards a pretty neat tour bus under the scorching heat of the sun.

Not to be egotistic or anything, I growled at the girls swooning by my side. One even hiked her floral shorts up and giggled shamelessly. Sometimes I prayed that I would grow zits or whatever there was on the faces of those who were oppressed at school so I wouldn't have to put up with such a large fanbase (believe me, I could vomit to death knowing that). Damn, it would be awesome if I could just return to my manga instead of standing in a long queue with hormonal females who were pretty much screaming at my ears.

To make things worse, a seemingly transvestite man sashayed through the crowd, carrying a megaphone encrusted with jewels and all that shit. He winked (presumably at me because I was the only one who bothered to listen) and said, "Welcome to the Annual Summer Camp and Road Trip, sponsored by the Hyuuga Enterprises!"

Now I see how Mom managed to have absolute power over my decisions.

The transvestite continued to mumble sentences with that high-pitched voice of his. "Now, let me explain that the bus is only for our travel to the airport. This year's camp will be held in various European countries, and for everybody's convenience regarding clothes, we will be stopping by duty-frees and stores."

Europe? That's pretty impressive, even for an introvert like me. Good thing I brought a number of hard-bound notebooks, I may be writing plots and stuff if ever I get inspired by Europe's supposedly perfect sceneries. Our transvestite guide introduced himself as "Narumi" and led us to our respective transportation. We were given sheets of paper which informed us of our seat assignments and schedules. The camp seemed like school, to say the least (I was hoping to make this summer as laidback and shitless as possible).

Apparently, my bus was the silent one, to my relief. Once I found my seat, I groaned inwardly at the papers sitting on the provided cushion, on which cell phone numbers were daintily scribbled. I found this rather disturbing andcreepy _and _annoying, yet my seatmate only giggled, stifling a huge snort under his stuffed toy. And here I thought that the only attendees to this infuriating camp were teenagers.

"What are you laughing at?" I spat, throwing my huge backpack to the baggage compartment overhead. The blond head whipped up at the sound of my (hopefully) irritated voice and bobbed childishly. "Nothing."

I wasn't good at conversations, so I left it at that and turned to the window. A lot of adolescents were still scrambling outside to find their bus (don't they know how to stick to schedules?) but seeing as the passengers in my bus were already complete and eerily quiet, I guess that the organizing body of the camp grouped us according to personality. For our group, we were easily classified as the taciturn but intelligent ones—though I really don't think that my seatmate was highly intellectual.

The driver revved up the engine (finally—these guys would fail terribly at time management) and a dozen whispers of sheer excitement echoed through the chilly breeze coming from the air conditioner. It would be no wonder if "Highway to Hell" played on radio, and I am deeply privileged by this once in a lifetime opportunity. I'm discreetly trying to drown myself in sarcasm just so I can just die before I reach my eventual death.

Blondie tapped me on the shoulder lightly and whispered, "Are you writing a diary?"

From someone who reeked of baby perfume, the statement sounded curious and okay—nevertheless, I glared at my seatmate. Leave it to him to think that I was jotting down how my day was superb using glitter pens and such. "This," I waved my notebook in the air, "is a travel journal."

"A journal and a diary are the same thing, right? And besides, we haven't really traveled to someplace in particular."

He made a point right there, but unfortunately for the rest of the world, I am _always _right. Even when I'm not.

My fingers made circular motions at my temples. "No. Diaries are for sissies and I'm currently writing some sort of prologue for the actual travelogue. Why am I even talking to you?"

Blondie smiled. Not the flirty closet gay kind of smile, but a real smile. "Because we both have nothing to do. I'm Ruka Nogi," he said, offering his thin hand for a formal greeting.

I shrugged, but complied anyway. "Natsume Hyuuga. Would you stop bothering me now?"

"Okay, but later I'll bug you again," Ruka impishly grinned.

Unconsciously nodding in approval, I turned back to writing. I was much too caught up in our "small talk" that I failed to notice why the hell the bus wasn't moving an inch. Either that or my senses were paralyzed from too much stupidity beside me. Seconds after my silent rants, the bus sped forward, zooming in at 120 kilometers per hour to make up for its wasted time. We passed cornfields and mountains by a blur, but I took down notes about the details which could be essential in the descriptive aspect of a story. Really, Mom and Dad should really hire qualified employees in the future.

I was about to rest for the tiresome hell ahead, when—

_Screech!_

The bus was late, now this. I wonder if the driver would get sued and I would never have a summer at all. What the fuck is wrong with people nowadays, I do not have knowledge of. Not that I need the knowledge, anyway.

The automatic doors opened, and feet shuffled quickly and noisily. On second thought, this might be interesting—a group of teenagers held hostage in the middle of the camp. Of course, my family's business would be put in jeopardy. I guess what makes me think of these things are the mystery novels that my dad let me read back then, and he would always say, "There's always a reason for everything. Or multiple reasons, for that matter."

Maybe one of those reasons was so that my sister could call me geek or nerd, which is so damn judgmental. And here she goes 'fangirling' over action stars who were basically the same characters from the books that I've been reading.

I can never understand any species of girls, which is why I raised my eyebrows at the brunette latecomer, who, to my surprise, had clean and neat clothes after probably chasing the bus. How she even managed to catch up remains a baffling question to me.

"Hi," she whispered between gasps and apologetic smiles, "I'm Mikan Sakura."

* * *

**Apologies** for the extreme OOCs and the short chapter and the weirdness of it all. I cut the summary because of the character limit ;A; This is not the best ship for me, but it's the first and only canon ship I have. Um sorry for the lame-ass story, I guess?


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated T **for language and extreme OOCness. You have been warned.

**Dedicated to **all lovely people who reviewed, followed, and added this story to their favorites.

_**Previously**_

"_Hi," she whispered between gasps and apologetic smiles, "I'm Mikan Sakura."_

* * *

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

Maybe she wasn't the prettiest girl in the world, but she was captivating given the fact that her angelic face was out of place above her all-black ensemble. Not that the supposed 'Mikan Sakura' had a mound of eyeliner around her hazel eyes, but one look and I realized that she was an innocent little kid dressed up in bad-boy clothes.

Upon my second look, though, I realized that I was completely wrong. She wasn't smiling apologetically- she was _smirking, _probably at how I was so glued to her grand entrance right in the middle of the road. Fine, this was a nice change of atmosphere from the girls who tried to throw themselves at me, but she was openly suggesting with her eyes, her damn hazel eyes, that I was an idiot smitten by love at first sight. _Oh, please._

I smirked back- take that, Sakura. Girls, especially assuming girls who are full of themselves, don't need to mess with me in the worst way possible.

Ruka seemed tense, judging by the way he clutched his stuffed toy and the nervous fidgets he displayed. Was Mikan Sakura exuding an aura of arrogance and rebellion? Because if she was, I wasn't feeling any fear at all- and maybe I can conclude that I'm an emotionless monster, as hypothesized by a stupid personality test on the Internet.

Never breaking her proud stare off, Mikan walked along the bus aisle and gathered her long brown hair into a messy ponytail, her free hand popping a Doublemint bubblegum into her small mouth. After reading all those detective stories, I could say (or deduce, for that matter) that all of her cocky bullshit was a disguise weakly pulled off.

Mikan didn't seem to mind her failing pretension when she took the seat behind mine, putting on her headphones (believe me, they weren't genuine) and turning up the volume of her alternative rock music notches higher so that she could succeed in creating her own impression on us, specifically me. I didn't give a damn whether or not she was trying to be cool, I just wanted this summer to end in the blink of an eye.

Too bad my smart-ass mouth couldn't resist the rare chance of putting someone to shame (now was the time to ease out of introversion, it thought on its own). "Headphones smuggled in the streets? I thought that this camp required an amount of compensation which couldn't possibly be paid by someone who is, undoubtedly, financially needy."

The alternative rock music (which already sounded like heavy metal to me, thank you very much) stopped blaring for a moment. Mikan sighed sweetly (the 'sweetness' there created another hole in her attempts of being incognito) and never responded with a witty remark. Perhaps she had nothing to say in that empty head of hers, to begin with, but seconds later I felt smooth hands on my neck. Was Ruka trying to get physical with me or-

_Oh, shit._

Soon I found myself frantic in a fatal headlock, my lungs aching for air and my eyesight beginning to shut down. Mikan's angry lips brushed past my ear and hissed, "Look, pretty boy, if you're just going to chide my stuff, better keep that mouth of yours to yourself."

To be honest, that's what I've done my whole life. My mouth apparently chose this hour as the right time to backfire on me and earn me a deathbed.

Ruka screamed at the top of his lungs and the once silent group that was on the bus started yelling and placing bets on whether or not I could survive. Are they fucking blind or can't they just see that I was _literally _dying over here?

Mikan must have seen my face become purple, so she released me with the last inch of her humanity and growled, her hair disheveled and her hazel eyes burning with the passion of revenge. "Don't mess with me again," she whispered before turning back to her cheap headphones, playing that same 'screaming' music in her ears and drowning all the gossiping noise in the background.

I could have retorted, but I choked on my words like a damn klutz so I just resumed writing and feeling a little ashamed and pissed off. I don't know why, but I may be writing a diary entry with glitter pens, telling an inanimate object how it was a man's distress to be defeated by a girl and how my day had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

Fuck my life.

* * *

As soon as I jumped off the bus (when we reached the airport, duh) I saw other teenagers 'making out' behind some vehicles. For Pete's sake, I was fourteen, and though boys do get hormonal during their puberty, it doesn't mean that they have to do a free public show. Not that I'd be interested to watch.

I should've stuck to Ruka rather than fumble for my passport alone while females surrounded me again with their cameras. The only things crossing my mind were unimaginable profanities, so I wasn't the least bit surprised when I fished out a movie ticket instead of my visa.

Now that I thought about it, perhaps Mikan Sakura was just another hitchhiker who was as random as any of the trillions of people in the world. I just happened to cross her with bad luck.

I reviewed the papers in the envelope that Narumi gave us earlier and read a handbook which comprised of the profiles of all the participants in the camp that my parents sponsored. Most of the participants had their detailed data listed including the companies of their families- turns out Ruka Nogi was the heir to several international medical businesses.

What intrigued me the most was the fact that Mikan Sakura was there, but her profile wasn't elaborated on. Only a picture of her fake grin was printed beside her annoying name. My nosy nature was starting to act on its own accord again, but after the near-death encounter I had with the damn rebellious girl, I won't bother to beg for another wrestling move, unless I was willing to punch a girl and defy the law of gender bias.

Out of the handbook, I gleaned that Sakura was older than me by months- yet another insult to my male pride. That sent all reason and logic flying out the window, because hell, that Mikan Sakura drives me and my guts crazy.

Narumi's megaphone made awful, screeching noises once the participants gathered outside the massive airport, which seemed like it had an all-glass structure from afar. Narumi distributed plane tickets and told us not to worry about the fares because 'the Hyuuga Company had been generous enough to provide all the necessities for this exciting and essential journey'. My mom couldn't even agree to me buying a minimalistic house by the beach and away from the family estate, yet here she was, spitting in my face that we were bloody rich because of the fact that we sponsored the stupid camp and the expenses it entailed.

In addition to that, we were going to board a business-class airplane, and the boarding time was right now. If there's one business trait that I learned from my family, it's diplomacy, seeing as they managed to convince the airlines to accommodate us in a unique aircraft with three seats in a row. Funny how I couldn't apply the trait in my hopeless case with Sakura and how I keep on pressing her on my mind because I feel threatened by someone who's two leagues under the economic and social ladder.

I found the '6' row of seats and sat in the middle, as declared in my ticket. A green-haired girl wearing an avant-garde outfit plopped down beside me- of all the colors in the world, why the hell would she even choose to dye her hair in puke-green? Just staring at her mane makes me want to vomit all over my notebook, and worse, she began to cling to my arm as if we had been close for years. I'm afraid of only two things in the world: clowns and physical touch from the opposite sex- I know, Sakura had choked me with her bare hands, but it wasn't exactly a sign of affection- why am I thinking about _her_ again?

I wasn't paying attention but I caught a name during the green-haired girl's one-sided conversation- "Sumire". Perhaps she was going on and on about how expensive her dress was, which I don't really care about unless her extravagant clothes could come alive and shut her up.

Finally giving in to migraine, I leaned back on the headrest and tried to block out all the reverberating voices of immature teenagers going giddy in their seats and taking pictures of sickness paper bags. Were rich people supposed to act like buffoons in a zoo?

All the irritation building my headache up was replaced by anxiety at the sound of a familiar voice and the rustle of a black leather jacket. If there was someone who had a more enormous ego than me, it was that Mikan Sakura. Did I already say fuck my life? Because if I did, then, double fuck my life. Make that triple.

"Move," Mikan commanded, holding a takeaway from McDonald's which presumably comprised of French fries, cheeseburgers, and gravy, based on the bulges and the outline of the bag. How the gravy ended up there, only the Sakura freak would know. I didn't even know how she ran to a fast food chain in the span of minutes, given that the food court was at the other end of the vast airport.

Of course, the only thing that I could do upon knowing that she would be beside me, not to mention that she gets the window for herself, was roll my eyes. A lot of people say that the action emanates femininity, but from the looks on Sakura's face, I could pull it off impressively. Though I developed a sense of hatred towards her, I couldn't help but gape when Sakura took her cheeseburger out and poured gravy all over the bun.

"That-that's gross," I muttered, wondering how the hell she could eat pickles coated with the warm brown sauce. She glared at me and took an enormous bite, making annoying chewing noises derived from barbarians.

"You know what's even grosser?" she asked, a bit of beef spewing from the edges of her mouth. "A seemingly straight guy writing on a diary. Imagine all your horrified fangirls at the thought of you parading in pink fur."

"For Pete's sake, this is not a diary," my lips drew into a rigid line, but soon turned into a wolfish grin. "So you _do _admit that I have fangirls."

Mikan smiled suspiciously. "Yes, of course you do, pretty boy. Although I might add that those fangirls worship a narcissist who doesn't have a face to show when a girl strangles him."

If it wasn't for the 'moral principle' that boys have to reserve a maximum amount of temperance for girls, I would have stabbed Sakura Mikan with my pen, as dim-witted as it may sound. I had never been more determined in my life to take revenge on someone. All I knew was if people do have archenemies in real life, Sakura Mikan would be one of mine.

"Better be a worshipped deity than a stuck-up loner who finds solace in eating unlikely combinations of food," I sputtered back, continuing to write cuss words on the back of my notebook. She wasn't responding, so I looked up at her and saw her staring attentively at me. For the second time today, I cracked a smirk.

In order to act out the process of humiliation, I cupped her chin (which was a big achievement for me because I usually hid from the presence of other living beings) and looked her straight in the eye. From my observation, the stronger and fiercer she is on the outside, the more vulnerable she gets inside when she thinks that nobody notices her façade.

"See something you like?"

She swatted my hand away dismissively and munched on her burger. "Oh, no. Just checking how you managed to stir hormones from the population of idiots, I don't even see what's so likeable about you."

"Will you please shut up?" Sumire inquired while keeping her firm grasp on my arm. I even forgot that she was there, no offense.

I mentally groaned. This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

Receiving the news about Narumi, I grew anxious and excited at the same time- the transvestite, along with other adult guides, disappeared without a trace in the airport- which means that my parents had intended a no-adult supervision road trip in a different continent.

The latest paperback copy of _The Templar Legacy _was laid on my desk. I couldn't quite understand how Cotton Malone ended up in the church or something. In fact, I couldn't quite comprehend anything at the moment when I saw that Mikan was watching a documentary about the German air force during Hitler's time.

I had to admit, she had pretty good taste.

It must be weird to see me staring at her, because her face contorted and she pressed 'pause' to stop the video with an irritated expression. "So, do _you _see something you like?"

Instead of feeling irked (which I do all the time), I laughed, pointing to the small screen in front of her. "Luftwaffe, right?"

It's a miracle that somehow, we were on speaking terms (and that doesn't include making offensive remarks). Mikan barely nodded and took another bite of her gravy-coated burger while trying to process that I actually smiled at her. For a while, I thought about how she could be attracted to the happy side of me, but I dismissed the idea because I would hate it for her to become another worthless fangirl, and if ever she would chase me, I would be scared out of my wits to know that she has the capability to asphyxiate me to death.

"Yeah," she said under her breath, pressing the 'play' button and lowering the volume of the video. The Luftwaffe began 'the Blitz'- the strategic bombing of Britain by the German air force during the World War II, done in 57 consecutive nights. "I don't get how the world can only see Hitler as the evil Fuhrer who practically claimed Germany for himself. Though he can be pretty violent, he's a genius."

Her perspective was quite shallow if one may ask- but I didn't want to get into a fight with a girl again, so I agreed, telling myself that maybe I could use some 'leveling down' of intellect for a while so that I could interact with normal people and, perhaps, gain a social circle. "How old are you?" I queried in loss of things to say. Despite my looks and status, I was fucking socially awkward. _Damn._

Mikan inched away and sipped her Coke. "Fifteen. Are you being a stalker now?"

"No," I voiced out, quite confidently this time- anything to make it seem that I am not, in any way, a stalker. "Just wondering if I could file a case against you."

"Which is?"

I pried Sumire's hand off my arm. "Child abuse." Sumire groaned in her sleep and resorted to hugging a magazine provided by the airlines, and Mikan chuckled at my back without sarcasm or any other negative edge, which seemed good for starter conversations.

"You're younger than me?" she shook her head, as if in pity and fake compassion. If she intended to annoy me, then she got an F. "The good old days of being naïve."

"Just by a few months," I countered, closing _The Templar Legacy _gently and placing it in my backpack. Yes, I can be pretty touchy-feely with my books. Good thing I didn't live during that certain Japanese era in which the emperor commanded his subjects to burn all known paperbacks. I might have attacked the palace and slain all royal people. "That doesn't make you any better than me."

Crumpling the burger wrapper, Mikan spoke, "Oh, really? I thought you were an asshole- pardon the French, given that you're a _child."_

"I thought you were a bitch," I deadpanned, noting the funny expression on Mikan's face. She laughed wholeheartedly again, and I found it rather amusing to watch her light up. What I said earlier about her angelic face was completely true- her cheeks were rosy red from the cold and she seemed harmless at first glance. "Pardon my French."

I didn't mean to be hilarious but Mikan nearly choked on her Coke, calming herself down by punching her head repeatedly. As I gazed at her, I shifted comfortably at my seat, recalling this day's events and how I wrote profanities like they were the most ubiquitous in my vocabulary. Before closing my eyes, I gave her my trademark smirk, and for a moment I thought I saw her hazel eyes soften as if they were the truest things I have ever seen.

We haven't reached Europe yet, but I guess I already made a friend.

Three cheers for the introverted Natsume Hyuuga.

* * *

**So **how was it? The Templar Legacy by Steve Berry and Luftwaffe are graciously disclaimed. This story is going to be fast-paced, so I suggest that you remember every bit, because you never know if it will come up as important in future chapters. The 'mystery' part of the story will be coming soon, promise. This was typed in a rush (yes, exams are next week and I found the time to still write this) so feel free to flame or, if you're kind enough, point out the errors. I think I hate this chapter OTL but anyways, stay tuned! 8D


	3. Chapter 3

**F**irst of all, I'm terribly sorry for the late update, it's just that- exams/thesis defense/physics project/APEC/debate/prom weeks have tortured me. Sorry if there are tons of errors, I know there are.

**Dedicated to** every reader there is out there, especially **Autumn Win-dow **for being the first reviewer to the previous chapters. Heh, don't think that I don't notice you people 8D

**Listen to **_Beautiful Goodbye _by Maroon 5. It's old and not connected to this chapter, but it gives me surges of emotions. Every. Single. Time.

**Disclaimer **yes, we do not need to elaborate on this because, just because. On another note, Higuchi Tachibana just _pleasepleaseplease _end Gakuen Alice because the manga is making me sick and fanfiction is the only thing still making your characters work. No offense.

x The quest for The Killer starts here. x

* * *

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

For the whole duration of the flight, I was wide awake, wriggling out of Sumire's hold and gritting my teeth in frustration while Mikan snored her head off. Just when I was about to rightfully claim my sleep, Mikan talked, her eyes still closed, about bombs and military insignias and an 'Organization Z', and maybe she let the German film get to her so easily. As much as I was patient enough, I wanted to tear my hair and evade jet lag by just committing suicide.

Mikan rested her head on the window and made muffled noises under her breath- almost as if she was trying to scream but didn't have the ability to do so. Referring back to detective stories, I assumed that what she was having a nightmare about was a recurring memory from the past- but I just let it pass, because it certainly wouldn't make sense if her home was bombed before or something.

Meanwhile, Sumire just drooled in her sleep, which made me wince at how un-ladylike a girl could be, no matter what her economic background is, when she's in deep slumber. Observing my seatmates was just about the only thing I could do that would make my mind work in the midst of sleep deprivation.

Another thing I noticed was the mark of a cherry blossom- _sakura- _on Mikan's wrist peeking out from her black jacket. Teenagers nowadays just want to make a canvas out of themselves, and I find it rather disturbing that we belong to the same species.

The pilot's voice resonated in the aircraft, startling the sleeping passengers. One of the camp-slash-road trip participants even banged his head on the overhead baggage bin when he stood up abruptly because of the announcement. "We are a hundred and fourteen miles away from Berlin, Germany- the date is July seven, seven forty three in the evening and it's 17 degrees Celsius outside with a cloudy weather. We will be landing shortly in the Tegel. Thank you for choosing Japan Airlines and we hope you enjoy your stay in Berlin."

Looking out the window, I recognized the illuminated 'Zeughaus' – the armory that was a magnificent Baroque structure prized by the Germans. I stopped breathing for a moment, as cliché as it may sound, and wondered how my parents knew about my childhood dream to see these kinds of places. Damn the world if they think I sound like a girl.

"Cabin crew, prepare for landing," the pilot said and the cabin crew followed suit. _Finally, _I would escape from a girl who salivates too much. I wouldn't mind hanging out with Mikan because she was different from the others, and if ever there were bandits or criminals on the loose here in Berlin, I'd rather stick to her while she kicks their asses. Completely gay, I know, but even if I'm physically weak (not gay), I could say that I'm quite experienced at guns, and perhaps I could be Mikan's sidekick (yes, my writer instinct which thrives on imagination has awoken again).

After blinking repeatedly, Mikan rubbed her eyes and yawned loudly, elbowing my head as she did so. She sheepishly grinned and didn't even mutter an apology- _what a bitch. _But I know that it's what she is, and she seemed to know it too, so I guess we won't have a problem pissing each other off while still being 'friends'.

Mikan licked her lips and cracked her knuckles. "Berlin. Excellent choice, Natsume's parents."

"I haven't even told you my name," I narrowed my eyes. Maybe she _is _a fangirl but she was just using this façade to get closer. "Mikan Sakura, I never thought that you'd be a stalker."

She gasped in mock surprise. "I didn't know you were so famous, either. All day long, your surname's stamped on the news. Hyuuga this, Hyuuga that. I don't even know how you became such an important figure."

"You wouldn't even be here, in a business class airplane, if it weren't for my family. Heck, I don't think you could even ride an airplane at all."

I smirked at her, and she just grimaced while tapping my head. "_Sweetheart, _that's not how you talk to adults," Mikan crooned, failing at making a puppy face because she wrinkled her nose too much. The airplane slightly jerked when it began to land on the Tegel airport, and I couldn't help but squirm when Mikan uttered the word _sweetheart. _

"I am _not _a four year-old kid."

When the plane had completely landed, Sumire stirred in her sleep and horror cut through her features when she discovered that her face was wet with slime. I ignored her and focused on Mikan's laugh. "But _sweetie, _I'm older than you," she punched my arm- and _fuck, _it did hurt. Sakura must have been into making people become punching bags.

"For one year, _cupcake,_" I snarled, playing along with the least of my will. Mikan burst out laughing and shook her head in disbelief.

"You shouldn't use food to describe me."

After we grabbed our bags, the stewards ushered us to the conveyor belts and gave us leaflets about Berlin along with a handbook on the German language. I tossed it to the trash can, because I already took International Studies when I was eleven. Ruka salvaged the handbook, though. He looked a little frazzled from the flight but held on to his stuffed toy all the same.

"Natsume!" Ruka exclaimed, mourning over the handbook and running over to me and Mikan. "You do know that this handbook is made of paper."

Covering her muffled laughter in her leather jacket, Mikan raised her eyebrow at me and made heart squiggles in the air. I nearly puked.

Ruka pouted and shook my shoulders. His blue eyes bore into mine easily as if there was some sort of familiarity, but our scene just made Mikan guffaw even more. "_Natsume. _The Earth is dying."

I pushed him off of me and used my bag as a defense mechanism. "Okay, so Mikan, this is Ruka Nogi. Ruka, Mikan." I half-hoped that the introduction would stop Mikan from chuckling and Ruka from glaring at me, but they continued doing so even when they shook hands. Noticeably, Ruka's fingers trembled and he immediately withdrew his hand.

Mikan cleared her throat and resorted to reading the pamphlet, cracking her knuckles as she read aloud, "First stop of the Annual Camp and Road Trip: Grand Hyatt Berlin Hotel, located in Potsdamer Platz, features luxury hotel rooms. There will be a session for mixing cocktails with the pros and unlimited use of Club Olympus, the fitness center. Now _that _is what I call a vacation."

"I don't want any alcoholic drinks," Ruka whined while running after his baggage on the conveyor belt.

I snickered. "Stay here, then, and lament over Mother Earth. While you're at it, say hello to bunnies for me, will you?"

"But there are no bunnies in the airport!"

"Pity."

"Boys," Mikan rolled her eyes and fisted my and Ruka's collar, "shush and stop bickering. I know how to kill people with just my arms."

Pleading for mercy with his blue eyes, Ruka gulped and looked at me warily. When Mikan let us go from her Goliath-like grip, we stared at the conveyor belt, wondering where the hell the bags went and why our voices were echoing in the hollow hall.

"Shit," I muttered, and Mikan grinned evilly, slinging her own luggage over her shoulder and bending forward to tie her shoelaces neatly. Before I could say anything, I comprehended why she was crouching with her legs positioned.

"Last one to the bus is a rotten egg!"

Of course, as it was obvious enough after minutes of catching breaths and running across slippery floors, Ruka was proclaimed as the rotten egg.

* * *

As the tourist bus sped through the _Berlin Mitte _district, I looked up at the glowing skyscrapers basked in the dim moonlight and overshadowed by the twinkling city lights. We passed by _Reichstag _building, its glass panes mirroring the busy signs of life in Berlin. I would probably never live here and keep up with the fast-paced life, given that all I wanted to do in my life was publish a book, spend some money, and talk shit about the people in my life. Soon, the Grand Hyatt Berlin loomed into view, but I would say that the Marina Bay Sands in Singapore displayed a more impressive feat in its architectural element.

I snorted when I saw Mikan staring at the hotel, her mouth open wide in amazement. We proceeded to the check-in counter and Mikan continued to point at every direction (she even talked about stealing some badass ashtray, or so I've heard) and, well, Ruka was Ruka, complaining about the mixing cocktail lesson this evening. All of the participants (now I know that we're sixty seven in total) were required to wear formal attires to the cocktail event.

Wondering about what suit I would choose, I glimpsed at Mikan. What would she wear? I thought that all she brought were shirts and jackets and those cheap boys' stuff available in groceries. For someone who looked at the ashtray greedily, she sure was lucky to be part of this trip.

I slid my card into the door and found myself in an enormous _shared _room with four other guys who were already in their tuxedos. They stared at me and imparted a smile, as if thanking my parents indirectly for giving them temporary freedom from their own families. One brown-haired boy shook hands with me. "Hey, the name's Kokoro Yome. I guess we'll be roommates in Germany so maybe we should be on good terms or something."

"Kitsuneme," greeted the boy with _slits- _goddamned creepy slits- for eyes. He waved at me, too, while fixing his aquamarine tie.

"Yuu," the nerd clumsily stumbled on the carpet and managed to nod at me. He wrinkled his nose at his broken glasses and took out new ones from his pocket, sighing inaudibly in relief.

Thinking that I should be introducing myself (though I'm not familiar with formalities), I cleared my throat and successfully grinned, though forcibly. "Hyuuga-"

"Natsume," they echoed, throwing a copy of the latest Forbes magazine at my head. I could do nothing but gape at them, but thankfully, Yuu broke the silence by stuttering.

"I-I was your classmate this year," Yuu announced, smiling shyly while subtly telling me that I was such a jerk for not even recognizing him. It's not my fault for not attempting to socialize with such boring humans who go to school for the sake of grades, girls, allowance, and whatever shit they enjoy in their silly solitary lives.

Yuu tried to smile even more, and I just shrugged, apologizing silently. By silently, I mean _not apologizing at all._

As the mahogany door closed gently, I tore my shirt off and growled at the humongous closet, grumbling at the vanilla-scented note that no one except my mother could have written.

"_Darling, I reserved a hundred suits so feel free to choose! xoxo, Mom._"

Yeah, right.

* * *

To say that Mikan Sakura was absolutely breathtaking would be lying on my part.

She looked completely _horrible_, to say the least. She was clad in a polka-dotted frilly dress which looked like rags (heck, the rags at our home were even more decent than her outfit), her normally stunning brown hair was frizzy, and she looked like a lost clown with the splotches of makeup on her face. I mean, really. I'm a guy but I do know that you're not supposed to decorate your cheeks with huge round marks of blush-on.

And _fuck, _she was wearing sneakers. If she intended to look kickass awesome, she ended up looking like a terrible copy of Barbie or something.

To cap it off, Mikan grasped her knife like she was ready to murder someone. I almost regretted being her friend, but from the anger heating up her face and turning her into a human-sized tomato, I knew that someone played a prank on her, specifically someone who offered to apply cosmetics on her face.

Mikan sneered and hit the table in front of her. "I look _hideous."_

"It's…fine?" I couldn't help but laugh and clutch my stomach. "Kidding. You should go change, you look like you're attending a circus."

"But how will I change?" Mikan cried, hitting the table again, this time, with her face. "They stole all my clothes. That bitch Shouda on the plane and the weird accomplice she has, Wakako or something."

I immediately texted my mom (because let's face it, she's the only one who knows how to pick dresses) and told her to send a maid within three minutes. Mikan continued to complain and smudge her makeup while I impatiently stomped my foot at the unresponsive phone in my pocket.

A few seconds late, a _butler _(Mom isn't exactly good at following directions) came, shoved me with a package, and left on his smooth black motorbike. Before I could process anything, Mikan dragged me to the elevator and pulled me to the room she shared with 'bitch Shouda' (it kind of feels right to say that) and Wakako at the far end of the hallway.

Maybe Mikan was a bit of a tomboy but a girl _and _a boy alone in a single room couldn't be helpful at all, especially since the said girl and boy were at the peak of their raging hormones and there was nobody around to supervise them. I nearly choked on my saliva.

Mikan must have noticed, because she smirked and kicked her sneakers off while plopping down on the bed. "Natsume, if you're actually wondering, I'm not going to rape you."

My mouth formed an 'o' but I quickly recovered and thought of a good comeback. "Now that you said it…"

I felt my head collide with the table lamp when Mikan instinctively defended herself. The red splotches of cosmetics on her cheeks couldn't even mask the blush creeping through her angelic expression. "Just shut up while I wash my face."

"Here," I said, handing over the package lazily. "This should be better than what you're wearing right now, but I think that the best option would be to wear nothing at all."

"Pervert!" she screamed her head off, storming to the bathroom and leaving me in a fit of chuckles. After a few moments of rolling on the bed and basking in boisterous laughter, I sat up when the bathroom door opened loudly and Mikan cracked her knuckles while blowing off a stray strand of chestnut hair. I couldn't help it but my eyes trailed over her pink lips, down to her long neck, down to her flowing peach dress, down to her milk-white legs, down to her wobbly feet in three-inch heels.

Damn, she was beautiful. _And _hot.

I just wanted to kiss her right there and then-

I bit the insides of my cheek and squeezed my eyes shut, taking in the fact that I should _not _let infatuation overcome me because my adolescent hormones aren't exactly cooperating. Mikan's smooth hands pulled me harshly again and we must have been in the elevator by then. I saw that Mikan had a bruise on her knee after she had stumbled in her heels.

She groaned at me pleadingly. "I am so dead."

"Not to me," I whispered, trying to pry my eyes off from her pouting lips and her exposed neck. If only I didn't text Mom to bring a cocktail dress, I wouldn't be holding my breath and pinching myself to regain control.

I coughed inwardly when we stepped out into the lobby and blended into the teenage crowd watching the cocktail mixers or whatever you call them. Somehow, Mikan ended up at the far side of the hall, and Kitsuneme's arm was slung over her shoulder. I was about to attack the asshole when Mikan flipped him over and assaulted his shin, much to my relief.

Time ticked by swiftly and soon they were handing out glasses of expensive cocktail mixed by internationally renowned people. I withdrew to the corner and took a sip, a bit lulled by the delicious yet unfamiliar flavor- as far as I knew, I've never tasted anything like this, even in the various countries that I have already visited on business trips. It seemed to me that the world was a hazy blur of swirling kaleidoscope, and that I'd been drugged. I just shrugged the lousy feeling off.

The moment I opened my eyes, I was standing in my room, staring at the cold floor of the restroom which was tainted with vomit. How the cocktail managed to make me throw up, I could never know.

Passing by in a blink, the evening turned quiet, almost eerie, and I was about to crash into the bed when the door opened harshly. Kitsuneme and Koko stood red-faced, breaths running in lapses after the other. The two suited guys slumped into the wall and tore their ties off wearily.

I could see that Koko was nearly crying.

"Believe me," I said, taking my shirt off and plunging into the heavenly mattress. "The drink did the same to me."

Kitsuneme groaned and cradled his head in his hands. Maybe the drink did _less _than the same to me. He groaned under his arms. "N-no. It's not just the drink. I-I-"

He looked up to me with the eyes of the familiar blurry kaleidoscope, pleading me to just sleep and lock whatever it was that bugged him away. Koko shook his head in disapproval, and I noticed that he must have changed clothes, because his white long-sleeved shirt was now colored red.

Rather, colored _blood._

I looked at him hard, and Koko said, "Thirty four people were shot dead in seven adjacent rooms."

Interested, I leaned in. No matter how inhumane it may seem, I was always interested in murders because that was how my dad raised me, through the use of detective stories. "So?"

Kitsuneme pursed his lips. "I think the person who did this-"

An empty silence ensued, and I waited expectantly.

"-the person who did this might want to kill us all. And the person who did this is one of us."

"One of us?" I asked, nervous tingles shooting up my back continuously.

Punching the floor, Koko swallowed audibly. "All of the seven rooms were for the female participants, which means all of the thirty four people were females. But we saw one girl training her gun on whatever she spotted on her way."

The evidence didn't seem sufficient, coming from two guys who were probably drunk to the brim. Still, I had to consider their suspect, because there was also one girl whom I was stressed and worried about because I had no idea if she was still alive. Perhaps she still was, because she _can_ kick ass, and maybe that's why I remained calm in the middle of a killing spree.

I finally forced the inevitable question out. "Who's the girl?"

The brown-haired guys looked at each other, and one of them flinched in masked horror.

"Sumire Shouda."

* * *

**I **apologize for the short chapter and the long wait. I hope that you will stick with the story though, because I'm currently doing my best to juggle my life and fanfiction. Oh, by the way, our song for the prom Last Dance was **A Thousand Years **by Christina Perri, which makes prom all the more sentimental since it's really, really our last dance for high school. Just sharing. 8D


	4. Chapter 4

**Dedicated to **all of the lovely reviewers and followers and favoriters (if there ever is such a word, but hey we're in a democratic site). Actually, I already feel happy when people are reading so thank you so much c:

**Notes **This might be rushed and short for a chapter, but graduation is in three weeks- you get the point. I apologize for the mistakes, kindly point them out through PM or review.

**Listen to **_Closing Time _ by semisonic. Don't laugh when you find out which movie's OST it is _hahahaha _in my defense the song was pretty catchy. Hope you're still reading the story, though. c:

* * *

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

"You…are fucking playing with me."

I choked on a bitter laugh and ended up conjuring an image of Sumire with her unforgettable drool. It was impossible- all my observations of her weren't exactly pointing to 'murderer'.

Koko, dazed from the weird cocktail, flipped his middle finger and stood up, shaking from anger and fear. "She killed _thirty four_ people, and yet that's all you have to say? Listen, man, forget about this trip to Europe or shit. I want to go home."

On the other hand, I continued to savor the warmth of the king-sized bed and breathed in. The cocktail still seemed to make my brain go haywire, but that didn't stop me from actually using my intellect for a grand purpose. I massaged my temples, irritated. "Did you actually _see _her shoot somebody down?"

Kitsuneme's shoulders drooped guiltily. "No, but-"

"No," my voice emphasized the negation, and instead of burying my head in the pillow, I sat up and hardened my gaze. "Sumire Shouda is not the murderer, for now. She's merely a suspect."

"For Christ's sake, Hyuuga," Koko threw his arms in exasperation and pounded on the wall. "This is _not _some mystery book that you happen to pick up on your way to the hotel room. Sooner or later, we're going to get killed. You're just fourteen, so I don't give a damn about what you say."

This time, I shoved him and fisted his shirt. He stared defiantly at my unwavering eyes, and I murmured, "I'm fourteen, Yome, but I can assure you that I actually know about a million more things than you do. And I know that Sumire is not the killer."

Coughing in the background, Kitsuneme opened the door and gestured to go outside. "I know, too, that in order to chase the killer, you have to go to the crime scene."

Damn, he beat me to that one.

I never would have thought that I would be walking along the halls of Grand Hyatt Berlin, holding a flimsy flashlight and trudging stealthily in pajamas. Koko and Kitsuneme lagged behind, shivering beside each other. They were complete scaredy-cats, but I bet that I'm the only irrational human being crazy enough to be thrilled by a massacre.

They exchanged a handful of dangerous murmurs, so I hissed, "Shut the fuck up or die."

Kitsuneme looked at me skeptically but zipped his mouth. As our footsteps resounded in the hollow corridors, I smelled the strong scent of rust coming from the queue of bedrooms labeled '401' up to '408'.

After ignoring Koko's pleas not to go inside room 401, I sniffed and saw that whoever the killer was wasn't exactly the most subtle and delicate. Bed sheets were torn and strewn across the bloodstained rug. The attacker and the victims must have had a sort of struggle, then. Four females lay on the chair, bathroom floor, and wherever else, with multiple stabs in various parts of their bodies.

I went to the other rooms, noting that there _were _a few males who wandered in the girls' bedrooms (how they got in there, I have no idea- okay, maybe one idea). They were shot dead with a Glock, presumably, based on the bullets. The massacre happened about forty minutes ago, and while I was still 'investigating' (_God, it felt so good to say that), _I made Koko draw a caricature of Sumire's gun. I was right- Sumire wasn't the killer.

"But what if she was the one who stabbed the females?" Kitsuneme inquired, teeth chattering in nervousness. I groaned, because it all seemed so obvious yet the two dickheads couldn't get a gist of it.

I exhaled and showed them the bullet. "Don't question my knowledge of guns, but this is from a type of Glock. What you just drew on that piece of paper is a mouse gun. Obviously for short-range shooting and used solely for defense. This is just the type of gun which amateurs use. All of this information relies on your photographic memory, which I don't think is really useful right now, because even the miniature barrel is missing and you drew the recoil upside down. Knowing that, you probably didn't see her with a knife."

Both guys gulped in shame, and I smirked, adding, "And we're on a very important lead right now, because all we need is an expert who can read a person's traits based on his or her handwriting. The message itself is a big clue."

"What message?"

Now incredibly annoyed, I tossed the bullet in the air and caught it nonchalantly. I shrugged and pointed to the right wall, biting the insides of my cheeks when I saw Kitsuneme cry at the sight of a message, rather a single letter, smeared across the beige wallpaper with blood. _Z._

"Z," Koko laughed in fear and amusement. "You ever heard of that show-"

"It's not from a TV show unless somebody is playing a very serious prank on us," I assured. "Thirty four people killed just because of a lunatic who loves fiction? I don't think so. The killer, as you said, must be one of us, and is very skilled in assassinations."

Koko and Kitsuneme turned to leave with wracked nerves. "Who is it, then, Hyuuga? If you're so smart, figure this out yourself because we don't want to die yet, and, oh, your company's going to get in so much trouble for this."

Shit. The reputation of my parents' company is certainly going down because of this, and I couldn't do anything myself except stare at the 'Z' written on the wall and try to wonder what the killer's motive was.

* * *

The next morning, I was surprised when I flipped the channels on and noticed that there wasn't any sign of the massacre last night. Not even a trace of Hyuuga Enterprises- which I think is good and suspicious at the same time. The same was through with rooms 401 to 408- no spots of blood and no bodies scattered around.

Kitsuneme avoided my gaze and dragged his trolley bag behind him. We were leaving Berlin, Germany and flying to Italy as our next destination, as stated by our new handbooks. The other participants seemed to be unaware of the gruesome killings, and just in time, I saw Mikan with her cheap headphones on. She grumbled and elbowed me. "Where have you been? I was literally dying in my heels."

"Where have _you _been? I didn't see you on the girls' floor."

Mikan folded her arms and stuck a tongue out at me. "There was this guy whom I accidentally punched last night, so I took him to the nearest hospital. He was suffering from hemophilia, and I was so nervous that I nearly pissed in my pants."

I rolled my eyes. "Dress."

"Yeah, right, dress, whatever," Mikan spat out. "Then he treated me to the restaurant and took me home."

"So you're telling me you're not a virgin anymo-"

"I still am!" Mikan groaned in frustration while gaining beet-red cheeks. "He's really very nice, and he's the only person in the world that I regret ever punching."

Somehow, I wanted to hunt that 'nice guy', tell him off, and perhaps throw a fist or two. Before I could mentally slap myself for that absurd idea, Mikan said, "His name's Kaname, and he asked me to accompany him today. Are you okay with that? I mean, you've got Ruka and I'm sure that you can fend off for yourselves."

"Oh, sure," I waved her off. _Go fuck off with that Kaname, _I wanted to scream, but I just turned on my heel, realizing that I haven't told her about the murders yet. It's better if nobody else knows because I can't have a bunch of teenagers freak out on me and leave me alone in Europe. "Have _fun_."

She eyed me dangerously and gave me the middle finger, because she intercepted the dark undertone of the word 'fun'. I laughed, but the amusement was short-lived because I remembered about the 'case'- my first case in history. Sparks shot up my spine at the thrill, not the terror, of it all.

I didn't notice Ruka tapping me on the back as I was too busy attending my daydreams. His perfume drifted to my nose, and he waved his stuffed toy in front of me. "_Natsume, _I was so worried about you!"

Flashing him a false look of concern, I tapped his back, too. "Don't worry about me. You should worry about yourself and your stuffed toy, because last night-"

I bit on my tongue- that was _so _close, leave it to me to ruin a secret. Ruka tugged at his blond mane and furrowed his eyebrows, repeatedly 'brandishing' his plush toy in the air. I would've thought that it was annoying as hell when I realized that Ruka was trying to _show _me something on the foot of the toy. Blood.

Just when I thought that the revelations were over, Ruka clumsily fished out a strip of paper from his pocket and whispered, "I found this, too, on the floor of the bedroom. It seems really creepy." I also sensed that Ruka meant to say, "It seems really creepy for you."

Judging from the thickness and color of the ink, the sender of the note used a particular Parker pen. What startled me was the note itself, and I could safely assume that the sender _and _the killer was just one person.

_Who am I, who am I?_

_The clock is ticking, and the crimson fluid continues to spill._

_The crimson fluid continues to drip from another victim._

_The crimson fluid continues to resemble your eyes._

_Let's play a game, shall we?_

_The clock is ticking, very fast, indeed._

_Who am I, who am I?_

'The crimson fluid continues to resemble your eyes'- _my eyes. _It was very apparent that the killer wanted me to solve the mystery and chase him or her. Something about the 'crimson fluid' kept nagging at me as several things ran through my mind consecutively and the word 'hemophilia' stood out. Where have I heard that word before?

_He was suffering from hemophilia, _Mikan had mentioned. Hemophilia is a disorder involving the inability of _blood_ to clot and thereby induces the risk of _blood _loss. I know that it's inappropriate to make conclusions without facts, but I just have this gut feeling that the Kaname guy or something was good- or bad- enough to be considered a suspect. For all I know, I could never really trust anyone, even Ruka, even Mikan. It's hard to escape a challenge such as this, because lives are at stake, Hyuuga Enterprises is in danger, and Mikan is, at this moment, with one of the possible murderers. It's hard to escape because I can't just refuse an offer.

Oh, and one more. All I can do is play the game.

"You're spacing out again," Ruka whined, hitting me with a rabbit keychain. He snatched the note, crumpled it, and tossed it to the ground, earning glares from the hotel clerk. "If that 'note' is freaking you out, don't mind it."

"People have _died,_" I muttered, forgetting about my reminder not to startle other participants. Since the cat was out of the bag, I'd better tell him the whole truth. "Last night, thirty four people were killed- shot, stabbed, whatever. I believe that the note was produced by the killer to prompt me to find him or her and discover his or her identity."

I expected Ruka to thrash around and scream and do the things that kids do, but he stayed fixed on his spot, eyes darkening a bit. He glowered at the piece of paper lying on the floor. "That bastard."

"Whoa, easy," I couldn't help but chuckle at Ruka's outburst and cussing, but my head suddenly felt like it was going to explode and shatter. The pain was familiar because this was what I felt when I took a gulp of the damn cocktail- everything was swirling in a cloud of mist and my brain throbbed. I stumbled on my feet.

Though it may sound so gay, I was glad that Ruka caught my wrist and helped me steady myself. I felt so exhausted that I barely registered Ruka's words, and silently I rode the taxi to the airport. All of the marvelous infrastructures of Berlin were deemed bland because of my weird headache.

I found myself handing my passport over and being ushered to my plane seat. Heck, I didn't even bother getting to know who my seatmates were. I caught a glimpse of Mikan, though, together with a tall guy who offered his arm for her. If I were in a better state today, I might have managed to knock that Kaname down, no matter how much of a gentleman he may be.

Slowly, my eyes fluttered heavily as if they were carrying bags of sand. The soft lull of the stewardess' voice echoed in the background, and soon enough, I spiraled downwards to a deep slumber.

* * *

The recognizable aroma of rust greeted me as I rubbed my eyes lazily. That's when I noticed- my own hands were dripping with blood but I didn't have any open wound. The aircraft was already empty, so I took the chance to proceed to the restroom. The blood was washed away quite easily, but I felt my arms become sore. Weird, I don't remember moving an inch ever since I slept.

Another weird thing: the _remaining _participants in the camp-slash-roadtrip (there were only thirty three of us now) were gathered underneath the plane, shushing each other as a tour guide (I heard several girls swoon, "_Ohmygod he's so handsome!_") waved a red flag in the air and instructed us to get our bags.

I met gazes with Kaname, and similar to my first encounter with Mikan, he gave me a confident and teasing smirk. _If only _I had the concrete proof that he was the murderer right there and then, I wouldn't be stressing myself out like this. He continued to taunt me with his eyes, almost as if he was saying "Who am I, who am I?"

In loss of retorts, I shrugged and looked away, my eyesight landing directly on Sumire Shouda, the alleged killer of the thirty four people. I raised my eyebrow at her natural disposition.

She pulled me to a corner and pointed her mouse gun at me- _Ha, _I was right about the mouse gun then. That's a first, but right now, I was caught in a fatal situation so I probably shouldn't exclaim in glee.

"_You,_" she growled fiercely, loading bullets into the gun. Her green hair was tangled and messy on the top of her head, and she looked like she had been crying in the past nights.

I cringed at the hostility and said, "I just saved you from interrogation, because you're not the killer. _Are you_?"

Sumire snorted sourly and leveled the gun with my head. Deep inside, my ribcage was being ravaged by wild heartbeats, but I composed myself and put on a straight face. Nice way to suppress emotions, Natsume Hyuuga. "I'm not," her tongue clicked, and she pressed the gun to my temple. Her eyes suggested something nonsensical, and I figured it out in a minute.

"Are you _actually _saying that I'm a suspect?"

The green-haired girl snickered and pushed the mouse gun further into the sweaty skin. After a moment of silence, she looked up to me with those fake flirty eyes and showed me a police badge hidden underneath her trench coat. "Yes, you are, Natsume. In fact, you're more than that."

I wrinkled my nose and the memories of my bloodstained hands and aching limbs came back to and hit me with a ridiculous idea that linked me back to the cocktail that made my head pound.

Sumire inhaled a fresh breath of airport breeze and deadpanned.

"You're the killer."

* * *

**Nah, **I know it's weird and fast-paced and all. Trust me, I've got this planned out c: On another note, however, Natsume might just need to be reminded every now and then : **Trust no one. **'Til next update.


	5. Chapter 5

I went out of the way just upload this, and finals are next week so I hope that this makes up for the lost time. I actually don't know if I'll be able to continue this, because it's really hard to portray the next scenes and I have problems with my writing style OTL. This story may confuse you, so I suggest that you digest every paragraph because you'll never know when it'll come up as important. Also, this fic is Rated T for a reason, so better watch out 8D

**Dedicated to **everyone who read, faved, reviewed, and followed 'Killer'. You're my motivation to update this tiny fic every now and then, and I really hope you leave some constructive criticism after every chapter.

**Listen to **_Some Nights _by Like Moths to Flames. I don't know why but I have a hangover on this song 8D

* * *

"_You're the killer."_

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

The three words reverberated in my ear like the echoes of a bomb which exploded from a distance. To be honest, I was thrown off-guard, and it was weird that I felt _guilty _when in fact I couldn't even remember murdering someone.

Sumire forced the gun on my temple, as if reminding me that she was still there, and she was about to convict me for a crime I didn't commit. "You're sweating, and your pupils are dilating. I can't believe it's that easy to catch you, Hyuuga."

"I am in _no way in hell _the killer, I swear," I held up my hands in defense and swatted the gun to the floor. "Besides, what concrete evidence do you have?"

The swarm of teenagers disappeared to the inside of the airport while we stood under the whirring blades of the airplane. I was scared not because being under an aircraft was dangerous, but because I was damn guilty about the massacre when I didn't even touch a single weapon. It's like I've done something without my own accord, like I was there but wasn't _really _there.

"The blood on your arms and hands," Sumire said, pointing to the red drops on my sleeves while picking the mouse gun up. _Shit_, I must have missed them when I washed my hands. "Maybe you were thinking that thirty three of us are left. In fact, just about fifteen minutes ago, five people disappeared."

I looked at her with a weary face, and she continued. "And ten minutes ago, you were the only one left on the plane, while _twenty minutes _ago almost everyone got off, excluding the five people who were gone. Do you notice the time frame?"

Instinctively, I nodded but I came up with a defense. "But you should also hear me out. Can you inspect the blood on my sleeves? Every detective needs to observe the details, not merely point out the totality of a clue. What can you estimate from the way it's dry?"

Swallowing audibly, Sumire scrutinized the spots of blood. "It's been there about ten minutes ago. But that's not sufficient proof- for all I know, you could be misleading me by giving me evidence that you're the killer, but you're actually not, but you actually are."

The girl in front of me pocketed her mouse gun and flicked her green hair. I took my turn to speak. "I rejected you as a suspect-"

"But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't consider you, too," she said flatly. Her police badge gleamed under the blazing heat of sunlight, and for once, Sumire Shouda impressed me by her ability to stay hidden in a group of naïve teenagers. "Natsume, I really shouldn't be discussing this with you because we can't really trust anyone here."

"Exactly," I agree with her main point, but then an idea inserts itself into my functional brain. "What if we work together? I have a lead, you have the senses of the police, and no one else knows."

Sumire laughed bitterly. "How would I know if I'm not your next victim?"

Fumbling with my beat-up backpack, I caught the glimpse of a crumpled paper which was written on with a Parker pen. The familiar words loomed into view. "You're the police. You should know that even if I fake my handwriting here, you'd still be able to catch me."

The green-haired girl frowned at the message. "Looks like it's you who's being pursued here. You're lucky that I was also trained by my father to be a graphologist."

Another impressive point for Sumire Shouda.

She examined the penmanship and tapped her chin while walking side by side with me to the arrivals section of the airport. "Left slant writer. Is cold and indifferent, and will do anything to keep his or her emotions concealed."

"Must be obvious."

Sumire continued and touched the underside of the paper with her fingertips. "Light pressure. Tries to avoid emotional situations and is self-centered. The handwriting has an oddly straight baseline, which means the writer is over-disciplined."

"Military?" I suggested.

"Possibly," Sumire answered with a slight crease on her forehead. "Although I'm not so sure, because the letters are small, and people who write like that tend to work _alone _and are not easily sidetracked_. _The wide spacing between words indicates that the writer avoids dealing with crowds. We must be dealing with a spy."

"A spy…from what organization?" I queried while grabbing my bag from the conveyor belt. I remembered something about _organization _but decided to let it go. "Oh, you're right. The tops of 'm', 'n' and 'r' are pointed, so the spy must be really intelligent and cunning."

Sumire shrugged and curled her hair with her index finger. "It's difficult. We don't know if the sender was under the influence of drugs during the duration of the composition of the letter, so his or her original penmanship would be different."

I was startled by the word 'drugs'- it was another one of the few things that generated tingly feelings in my gut. "Shouda, did you, by any chance, drink the cocktail in the Grand Hyatt?"

The undercover policewoman, who was still an adolescent, wrinkled her nose. "I was advised never to consume liquor and such on an important case."

The group of participants was divided, and everyone was assigned to different buses. Sumire was on her way to a different bus from the one which was designated for me, but before she could leave, I gripped her arm. "By the way, who were the five people?"

Sumire's stare hardened. "We don't know if they're still alive-"

"Just tell me their names, and I'll be off."

"…Anna Umenomiya, daughter of one of the executives of a five-star restaurant here in Europe. Nobara Ibaragi, the heir to the Ibaragi Inc. Yuu Tobita, operations manager of his father's company. Hayate Matsudaira, son of a renowned lawyer but is actually a playboy. Last but not the least, Rei Serio, the owner of a large media corporation."

I can't believe that Yuu was gone- or dead. After a few moments, Sumire turned on her heel but stopped walking three feet away from me and casually threw a comment. "You know what's weird, Hyuuga? All the people who have been killed on this trip were the heirs to your rival companies- and now you know why you're _still _the main suspect."

I couldn't say anything about that, so I just walked away and felt my head throb while thinking about the proofs that pointed to me.

I'm screwed.

* * *

.

Even the 150 magnificent canals of Venice couldn't compensate for the heartbeats hammering my chest. Sure, we rode the gondolas and wandered around the City of Water, but I didn't even notice that we were already on our way to Rome until my seatmate in the bus whacked my head and told me to wake up for another tour. It's not my fault that danger was lurking, and I was (possibly) scared out of my wits.

"The Colosseum is the most famous amphitheater in Roman history," the tour guide stated, putting emphasis on every other syllable. I was a bit irritated by his heavy Italian accent that I wanted to take his megaphone and slam it into his face.

Nevertheless, the guide kept on blabbing about facts which were old-school. "The Colosseum has no less than sixty entrances-"

"Eighty," I muttered under my breath, away from the ears of my co-participants.

"-and can house 70 000 spectators-"

"50 000, you idiot."

"-the construction was started during the Flavian dynasty and was finished in the reign of Vespasian-"

"Bullshit, it's his son Titus who finished the Colosseum!" I accidentally blurted, okay, maybe _screamed, _and the thirty three- no, twenty eight other teenagers stared at me in bewilderment. Ignoring the shouts of the guide, I stomped off to the _Nau Machia_, an Italian restaurant which wasn't actually for tourists.

I resisted the urge to drink the good wine in the _Nau Machia_, so I resorted to ordering one of the best-selling pasta dishes while indulging in the time to think. I also tasted the _shrimp risotto _and the _fiori di zucca_, and instead of actually thinking about the case, I gobbled the Italian food. Somehow eating really helps with depression.

_The cocktail_, my subconscious nagged, willing me to drop my fork for a while. I'm sure that there was a particular substance which caused the peculiar dizziness- I tried my best to recall the odor, the taste, and the possible components. There was an irremovable metallic taste on my mouth, and the drink gave me a headache.

One thing was for sure- I needed to get my hands on the cocktail mix again, and I desperately wanted to visit a research laboratory…but how on Earth could I find one, and how would I get in?

In mere seconds, my mind clicked. I was named Hyuuga Natsume for a reason.

After paying the bill which was outrageously cheap, I called one of the butlers in the main mansion of the Hyuugas. He immediately answered the long-distance call, and I was greeted by a deep voice. "Ah, Young Master, what can we do for you?"

I hailed a taxi while talking in hushed tones. "Inform the crew at the Italian vacation house that I will be arriving at around 2 pm, and make sure that they have prepared the in-house laboratory."

"But Natsume, aren't you on a-"

"I strayed for a while," I pressed, constantly looking up at the road signs to make sure that I memorize the way back to the Colosseum. "It's important. Please don't tell Mom."

A faint sigh escaped the butler's lips. "As you wish. I will be contacting the caretaker there, and please take care." Ignoring the sentimental remark, I hung up as soon as I saw the view of greenhouse and the infinity pool. Without hesitation, I slapped the 40 euros on the driver's hand (and disinfected myself with ethyl alcohol when I got out of the cab).

I never really loved this place- Dad bought it when I was eight years old. Back then, I wanted to study all the scientific names of the plants in the greenhouse, but before I could go there, I would seek the permission of my Mom. It was always 'no', but I went anyways- hiding from the sight of our maids and butlers, I walked along the infinity pool on the way to the greenhouse.

And I was right all along- I wasn't a sporty kid, and I calculated the time in which I slipped, and the distance it would take for me to be thrown into the pool. I drowned, and it was the closest thing I have ever come to death. Right now, I could feel the same churning in my stomach as I did seven years ago, when I couldn't breathe and my heart was pounding like it was the last time I will ever be alive.

The sad thing was, nobody was there to hear me scream for help, and nobody was there to save me. I could only try to push my feet up to reach the surface, but my efforts were to no avail. My lungs were constricting, and I didn't even have a damn clue about the depth of the water.

That was until _she _jumped into the pool. She didn't know how to swim either, but she was trying her hardest to pull me up, despite my weight. After a lot of struggling and groggy attempts at standing up, I managed to look at her face. Wide, hazel eyes and innocent pigtails.

She looked like Mikan Sakura-

Wait, _Mikan_? Why the hell did I only remember it today? It's like the memory itself had been locked up in the back of my mind- I remembered her telling me about how she ended up there. Her father was best friends with my dad, and they were discussing about business ventures. The rest of the recollection seemed hazy, but I'm still not sure if it was really Mikan who saved me. I wasn't quite sure of anything at the moment.

Then it hit me again: the metallic taste of the cocktail mix seemed too familiar for me to recognize it. I tasted it seven years ago, _right after _the pool incident. There had to be some way that the memories I couldn't remember and the odd side effects of the mix were linked.

I knocked on the door to the laboratory, and the rest of the scientists who volunteered for my father's project in medicine didn't try to notice me. As I set my backpack on the counter, I immediately fiddled with the microscope and observed that a clumsy scientist had spilled a minimal amount of white crystalline powder. Curious, I tasted it-after all, there's never excitement without danger.

_Metallic_, I remarked, and it seemed too funny to think about the coincidences that I just proceeded on putting the powder under the microscope- some noticeable components were polyethylene glycol, ethyl vanillin, sodium ethyl hydroxybenzoate, and brown ink. After some research on my phone, I came up with the substance named _Metyrapone USP_- which has the ability to _erase _particular memories which brought _trauma _to the patient.

I quickly left the mansion without a word, partly because I was still terrified of my pool encounter, and mostly because I was thrilled to have another huge lead. All I have to do is return to the Colosseum and find the tour group.

Doing the last one wasn't so easy after all.

* * *

_._

_Hopelessly lost _was an understatement of what I was- I frantically asked every passerby _in Italian _if they saw a large group of teenagers wandering around the Colosseum, but I only got flashes of camera, flirting, and some exclamations at the latest Forbes magazine. If there was anything that I never intended to be, it's to be the center of attention- well, maybe sometimes I do like attention.

I gave up on the thought of trying to form a proper conversation with the native Italians and set off on my own adventure in which the goal was to find either Ruka, Sumire, or Mikan. No, forget Mikan- she's probably with Kaname and I wouldn't want to be the third wheel- perhaps I would just to annoy her.

If the cocktail did contain Metyrapone, then what was it about that night that I couldn't remember? Sumire didn't even drink, but why does she have the same memories as mine? It would all be chiming with each other if not for the doubt that Sumire may be hiding something else from me, something really important. Something that involved me.

Plus there's the fact that I shouldn't trust anyone. _Fuck that_, what am I supposed to do? Fight my way through this vacation and become the detective? The note inside my backpack felt heavier than usual because of the realization that no one, even I, knows if I'll die next.

There must also be a reason why I, Sumire, Mikan, Ruka, Koko, Kitsuneme, and the others were still alive. Was it because the killer intended to do something with us? And who _was _the killer among us?

I lost track of my way because of my mental debates and ended up in the Via Dei Fori Imperiali. From the sessions with my Geography tutor, I learned that this road extended from the Colosseum to the Piazza Venezia. There was a heavy traffic, and I couldn't care less about the population density if I couldn't even find my group.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I glanced at the unknown number. The area code was still Japanese so I didn't refuse to answer- Sumire's irritated noise echoed in the background. "Hyuuga, don't tell me you killed someone again, and I am really out of my mind to tell one of the possible killers that he has killed another one."

"I was lost, okay and- what? There's another one?"

Sumire cleared her throat on the end of the line. "For all I know, you may just be acting like you don't know. Well, I don't know if it's two, but I've just concluded that one of the two is dead. Those two disappeared after we searched for you when you went off on your own little escapade."

Undeniably, I became nervous, and suddenly I was aware of my surroundings. I was _scared_, for Pete's sake. "Who died, and how did he or she die?"

"It's weird," Sumire stated, the phone call making static noises every now and then. "The guy died of asphyxiation by nylon rope, and there was _no _sign of fingerprints. I even hid in a dark restroom and brought the black light. I'm assuming that the other one was kidnapped, though."

I grew weary of hearing the details of the murder. "Shouda, stop beating around the bush. _Who died?_"

Even if we were just on a call, I could imagine Sumire making a twisted look on her face, kind of like when she makes a revelation that is either bad, worse, or worst.

"It's Kaname Sono. Tall guy, blond hair-"

I didn't need to hear the rest of it. Inside, I was screaming and cursing _fuckfuckfuckfuck _as I got into another taxi hastily without any idea where I was going to.

But the swears inside my head never ceased. Damn this-

Mikan Sakura, the first best friend I've _truly _ever had, was in danger.

.

_Damn this._

* * *

**I'm **quite nervous about what you guys will say about this, but in my defense I did a lot of research regarding Rome, the PTSD drug, and handwriting analysis. At least I learned something out of this chapter! This is the most I could do after all of my projects and stress-inducers. Tell me if you're confused and I'll patch things up for you. I guess things are _really _becoming complicated after this chapter- what happened to Mikan? Was Sumire really hiding something from Natsume? Why did Natsume remember Mikan, and what 'business ventures' were their fathers discussing about? The key to understanding this mystery is asking the right questions, and I'm already giving you hints. 'Til next chapter, and I hope you liked this one. 8D


	6. Chapter 6

**|Author's Note| **And I'm back with a new chapter of _Killer. _It's really difficult to write this series because mysteries always need keen observation and a whole lot of details, and I hope that I've been able to portray a good mystery. I would really appreciate it if you gave constructive criticism, and if you read my other series, _Irrevocable_.

**Dedicated to **all of my readers. Thank you for staying with the story although I haven't been writing in my best shape lately, and I hope that you're still reading this chapter.

* * *

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

While my shaking fingers drummed against the seat of the taxi, my phone vibrated again. Sumire's voice echoed loudly and the driver looked at me suspiciously. "Natsume, just go straight the _Via Fori Imperiali _and down the Victor Emmanuel Monument. I was a bit intrigued by this place, and here is where I found Kaname's body. The cops are already here-"

"Good," I nervously muttered, because I didn't want the Italian police saying that we were the killers. "I'll be there right away, and don't let them touch anything first. Do you know how to speak Italian?"

"My accent may be rough," Sumire admitted, and after a long sigh, she hung up on the call, leaving me in a jumble of incoherent thoughts. For the first time, I wasn't so excited about the murders anymore, because little by little, I found the killer to be eliminating those who were a bit connected to me.

The taxi stopped abruptly at the monument that Sumire mentioned, and after some arguments about the payment, I stomped off, hissing at the idiotic driver. Journalists were already crowding around Kaname's corpse, and Sumire stood at his side while exchanging ideas with the _Polizia di Stato_, the civil national police of Italy which was responsible for investigations.

"Natsume Hyuuga," I offered my hand to their Chief Inspector and he nodded, as if he knew who I was all along. He didn't look like he was from Italy, or Europe, for that matter.

He knelt beside Kaname's body and took his notepad out. The moment he spoke, I knew I was correct when I generalized that he wasn't Italian. "Poor boy over here, looks like he'd been strangled for about five to ten minutes."

I crouched down to his position and saw that indeed, there were nylon marks around Kaname's neck. His eyes were open, and his mouth had been in an odd angle- kind of like he was saying something before he died. The murder had been quick, without any blood or wound. There must have been no getaway car because all there remained on the sand were footsteps from a single person.

Which means Mikan might have been drugged by chloroform and carried away.

"We're looking for a muscular person here, because my colleague and I here," I gestured for Sumire, "believe that another person is missing and has been kidnapped."

The inspector looked at me with his hypnotizing blue eyes and nodded. "We'll take note of that. I have important matters to attend to, so I have to take an early leave. Natsume Hyuuga, boy, I'll trust you to figure this out."

Before I could reply, he turned his back on me, and only did I realize that the Chief Inspector and the tour guide from the Colosseum were one person. My suspicions were confirmed- whatever was happening here, in the camp-slash-roadtrip, was a result of some international conspiracy that sought to bring Hyuuga Enterprises down.

But that wasn't my biggest worry yet- I had to find out where Mikan Sakura was, because there was 99.9% chance that she was in grave danger, or was already killed, too.

I stared down at Kaname's corpse, imagining him smiling back at me with his dead, toothy grin, taunting me to discover who killed him. Something about him made me feel reassured that he _knew _who the killer was, and that even when he was in the afterlife or whatever, he'd been intelligent enough to leave something for me to solve.

_Use your damn brain, Natsume, _I repeated in my head, trying to concentrate on all of the details. Sumire took her camera out and stole a picture. "There's something very, very strange here," she whispered, a bit still terrified at the sight.

"I know," I muttered, going around the victim. "Did you already check his pockets?"

Sumire stood up and shook her head. "I checked, but there's nothing in there. Natsume, I think…he doesn't look like he'd been strangled."

"What?" I fired, taking a good look at Kaname's neck. There were bubbles formed on the edge of his mouth, and I've never heard of someone experiencing the same symptoms of a seizure when strangled to death.

I leaned in closer, and my heartbeat accelerated when I caught the whiff of that familiar metallic smell- _metyrapone USP. _ I had the feeling that Kaname wasn't asphyxiated, instead he was-

"Poisoned," I said as I looked at Sumire's curious irises. She raised her eyebrows and gasped as she saw the bubbles. I continued. "He must have been given heavy doses of _metyrapone USP_, a PTSD drug that has an odd metallic smell. It's been in the cocktail mix back in Germany."

"Cocktail?" Sumire inquired. "You mean everyone- except me- has been drugged?"

Grabbing the camera, I scrolled through the pictures- all of them were of the previous murders. "Yes, and metyrapone is, in fact, a drug which erases memories. That's why I've been suspecting that _you _must be hiding something."

After a moment of registration, Sumire choked on a bitter laugh and pushed her index finger to my forehead. "I swear to God, Natsume Hyuuga, I've been telling the truth. Every single bit of it. And you're extremely lucky that you're the one I trust."

Her pupils weren't dilating and her finger wasn't sweating, which means that she was perfectly saying the truth. I murmured, "So given these facts-"

"The 'poison' or whatever that you guys have taken _may be metyrapone_, but has been modified to perform a different set of side effects," she finished.

At the phrase 'side effects', my lungs constricted at my newfound memory of whom I thought was Mikan years ago. It had been terribly peculiar, because this was the first time that I recalled such memory. "Specifically, the side effects have been _reversed_."

Sumire's eyes widened at the realization. "You mean-"

I took one last look at Kaname and frowned, struggling to connect all the dots that seemed too out of place. "Instead of erasing memories, the drug makes us _remember_. I recall having the same metallic taste after an unfortunate childhood accident, though I don't know where I tasted it."

"Okay," Sumire mentally noted but pointed to the issue at hand. "Another thing- this case is also unique, because all of the previous murders involved blood. Do you remember your note?"

Scrambling for my backpack, I grabbed the now crumpled piece of paper that served as our lone direct clue to the killer. Sumire glanced at it and resumed talking. "It said, _the crimson fluid continues to spill_. This time, there has been no blood, so I think, I just think, that the last victim will be Kaname Sono."

"But that means that it's all pointless, because the killer must have had a valid reason to do all these," I carelessly said, until a vague idea hit me harshly. It threw all logic flying out the window, but I had the crazy gut feeling that the idea was important.

Sumire scrunched her nose up at my queasy expression. "Well, what?"

"The killer," I restricted my voice to a low tone, "must have known that Kaname had hemophilia."

Indeed, I was very, very terrified, because after that generalization, a probable conclusion came next, one which I didn't- and would never mention- to Sumire.

She looked like she didn't care about it, though, because she shrugged tiredly, nodded to the remaining police officers, and said, "Let's eat. I feel like I can swallow a whole horse."

* * *

After Sumire had successfully gobbled up three meals in an hour, we found our tour group in the _Camping Village Roma, _which was fifteen minutes away from the center of the city. It didn't exactly look like a traditional campsite, but there were cottages, caravans, and house tents set on the grassy ground so I guess that it was pretty neat, too, unless there was somebody who will be killed again.

There were twenty seven of us left (I refused to believe that Mikan was gone) and the twenty four naïve ones carried on their flirting and enjoying of their summers without any knowledge of the massacre, except, of course, Kitsuneme and Koko, my roommates back in Germany.

They were lounging beside the Jacuzzis and pointing at girls clad in bikinis. I walked up to them and their smiles immediately wore off. "Listen, I need you guys to-"

"No, I wouldn't, Hyuuga," Koko tried to distract himself with the girls in swimsuits diving into the turquoise water. "Last time I checked, a lot of people died. I'm just trying to live my life before I get to end it the same way."

Kitsuneme stared at me icily. "We don't want to be involved in a string of murders. Just six weeks left, and we're going back to Japan, still alive and kicking."

"I need you to help me determine who the killer is," I groaned frustratedly, and they reciprocated the groan when Sumire joined our tiny chat soon after, as if she had gained an unspoken permission to butt in.

His head shaking in terror and disbelief, Koko muttered, "Don't tell me that you're working with the killer."

Sumire hit his head with her bony hand and adjusted her shades. She was now wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a floral dress, and flip-flops in order to blend in with the crowd. "Shut your stupid mouth up, Yome. I'm a police officer, so get your facts straight."

I elbowed her and continued my 'recruitment speech'. "We need to work together, if we want to stay alive, kicking, _and_ even jumping our asses off. I _know_ that not one of us is the killer, and I sure as hell don't want to trust you guys but I have no other choice."

"So you're saying," Kitsuneme drawled out, "we're the only ones who know about the murders, and that we should be working undercover to save the day, or whatever lame shit there is that heroes in cartoons do."

"Exactly, but not that exact."

Koko sighed and glared at Sumire. "Okay, I'm in. As long as nobody dies, I'm fine with it."

Sumire and I exchanged satisfied smirks, but Kitsuneme had to ruin the moment by saying, "How do we start?"

"First," Sumire blurted, settling on the spot beside Koko and earning a grimace from the latter, "we brainstorm. Hyuuga and I do know that all of us had been drugged during our first night in Germany."

While Sumire went on to explain the technicalities of the situation, I found myself pretty amused at Koko's and Kitsu's ignorant faces. They nodded at detail upon detail, although I'm not so sure that they understood the whole thing.

Just as I was about to explain my own perspective on the murders, I remembered one person who seemed strange enough to disappear without the whole delegation noticing. _Ruka Nogi_, my other supposed friend, had never been spotted these past few days. Was it possible that he was the killer?

A fleeting glimpse of the blond boy went through the edge of my eyes- and as I opened my mouth in curiosity, he just stared at me and smiled sadly, clutching his stuffed toy to his chest and proceeding to his own cabin.

But before he went in, Ruka mouthed, _tonight_.

Maybe I was going to find out who the killer was, so I decided to focus on my conversation with the three participants. "I have a new suspicion- I've been wondering where Ruka Nogi has been lately."

Koko tapped his chin and quirked up after a minute. "Oh, that blonde guy you used to hang out with? I often saw him alone. I once heard him talking to himself."

"I thought he was insane," Kitsuneme confessed while feeling sorry for Ruka.

"Wait, wait," Sumire held her hands up to emphasize her voice, then turned to me with a serious face. She gazed at my crimson irises for a moment and seemed to understand what I was thinking. "Did he tell you anything?"

"I read his lips," I said. "He said 'tonight' gloomily, as if he knew that something was going to happen. I didn't know if that was one of his sympathetic killer episodes, but one thing's for sure: we should find him in the evening."

We agreed that we would meet by eight o'clock in front of this Jacuzzi, and we were about to head off to our respective cabins but Koko 'accidentally' pushed Sumire to the nearby pool. Kitsuneme and I shrugged our shoulders wearily and decided to let the two morons have their pool fight or something.

After all, we didn't know if we were going to die tonight, so the least we deserved was a bit of enjoyment for this summer.

Accompanying my fear for later was the hope that I might see Mikan- still alive- in the evening. What I saw next in my cabin surprised me so much, though, that I foolishly screamed like a girl on the height of her hormones while watching her favorite series.

On my bed sat Mikan Sakura, noisily 'sipping' on a ketchup packet and watching _Perks of Being A Wallflower _on the flatscreen TV. Once she'd noticed that I arrived, she took one last gulp of the ketchup and waved informally.

"_Holy shit, Sakura,_" I ran and grabbed her collar, then did what was totally unexpected of me: I hugged her, _crushed _her even. She just bit her lip in silence and we stayed like that for a while, until I realized that I probably looked like some mushy idiot. I withdrew and pushed my two fingers against her forehead.

"You," I began with my trembling voice, "are the most inconsiderate prick that I have ever met. You vanished and I thought you were _fucking dead_-"

"I nearly was," she casually responded, pausing the movie at the scene where Charlie, the main character, first tasted hash brownies. She exhaled sharply. "I was scared, so _fucking scared_, Natsume."

Now that I've assured her safety, I thought back to the case. "Did you see who the killer was?"

Sensing my distress, she shook and threw her head onto the pillow. "I passed out and woke up back in the Colosseum. I thought I smelled chloroform and stuff, so I just asked where the tour group was and proceeded here even if I was feeling a little bit groggy."

We sat in silence for a few heartbeats, not realizing that the movie hadn't been properly paused and the dialogue kept on running. If only my summer was as simple as Charlie's high school, in which his biggest problems were mixed tapes and drugs. But I had to be in this damn camp that greatly exhibited _Battle Royale_.

Another thought clouded my mind: did my parents intend for all of this to happen?

Mikan huddled herself on the mattress and when she spoke, her voice broke audibly. "Kaname's dead, isn't he?"

I only nodded and fisted the sheets. Why on Earth was she even thinking of him when she was in danger herself? Soon enough, I heard her cry- never in a million years would I have seen Mikan Sakura, who scared the guts out of me when we first met, cry like that. But here she was, as vulnerable as everybody else.

I had little else to do, so I just watched her wipe her tears with the back of her hand, mumble a few things, and drift off to sleep in my own cabin. I didn't mind, because I felt perfectly fine that my best friend was breathing inches away from me, and maybe that's all that even mattered.

Before I could even take a nap, I realized that hours have already passed, and I had about twenty minutes to get to our rendezvous point which was in front of the steaming Jacuzzi. I went early to have the chance of inhaling the fresh evening air of Italy before somebody died again, and to gather all my recurring thoughts of everything that had happened.

I was right- Ruka was there, staring aimlessly at the distant stars that hung in the Italian skyline. He turned around and waved at me, motioning for me to sit beside him. No matter how nervous I was, I did so, anyway.

He embraced his stuffed toy tighter and spoke calmly. "Do…do you remember the note I gave you?"

_Don't tell me you're actually the one who wrote it, _my subconscious itched to yell out loud, but I kept my bearing and discreetly nodded. Ruka swept away a stray strand of blond hair from his face, and I saw just how his intense blue eyes were just as bewildered and terrified as my own eyes were.

"Someone wanted me to give it to you. I- I don't care if she'll kill me-"

"_She?_" I asked impatiently, but Ruka waved me off and continued nervously.

"-but I wanted to tell you that I knew who the killer was all along. Be careful whom you trust, Natsume-"

After that, no word came out of his mouth, and all I heard was a gunshot in the distance. Ruka looked at me once and fell into the steaming Jacuzzi, in which the water turned blood red in a few minutes.

I sat there, shaking in the cold night breeze while I looked at who was in front of me. All of the lights had been purposely closed, and all I could see was a silhouette of a girl and a gun pointed at none other than myself.

I knew it. I knew I was going to die this evening.

_Click_. The killer reloaded her gun, and I could very well say that even if she didn't pull the trigger, I would die of heart attack. But the bullet never came, because I heard Sumire, Koko, and Kitsuneme shouting for the police while holding the flashlight in my direction.

The killer muttered, "Shit," and ran off into the trees, leaving me with the blinding glare of the artificial light from the others. I couldn't move, not even one inch, but I felt Sumire shaking me with her warm hands, Koko hauling me to a nearby cabin, and everyone else fanning me, thinking that I must be in a shock.

The truth was, I was more than shocked. I only felt them screaming, as though I was in a vacuum with nothing to see but the haunting image of a gun pointed at my head…

…With nothing to see but the haunting image of Mikan Sakura holding the gun itself.

* * *

**Umm** constructive criticism, please? And yes, I am not a horrible human being. 8D


	7. Chapter 7

**|Author's Note| **An update for my lovely readers! Tomorrow's my graduation day, and I feel kind of sentimental and such. This chapter is mostly composed of dialogue, and a lot of stuff are going to be explained here. Sorry if the chapter was rushed, I just didn't have the time. Thank you for your continuous support for Killer!

* * *

**Natsume Hyuuga**

* * *

As I stared at the ceiling of my own cabin, everything came crashing down at me: this summer was possibly my last; all the murders had not been part of a game; this was harsh reality - I wasn't a detective of some sort. Everything that I have ever read in mystery novels were figments of imagination, because I couldn't be brave enough like the protagonists in the stories.

There was no detective named 'Natsume Hyuuga' to begin with. 'He' was just another fourteen year-old boy who wanted the impossible, and who was to become a victim later on.

Sumire, Koko, and Kitsuneme were still sitting on the base of my bed. The two guys must have carried me here when I had passed out, and they refused to look at my pale face. Sumire, however, offered me a glass of water and patted my arm.

"I can't believe it," she said. "To think that Mikan Sakura is the killer…"

I wanted to block all the noises out because I hated hearing _her _name. Before I realized it, I was shaking from fear again – no, I wasn't afraid of the fact that Mikan was the criminal behind all the bloodshed. I was terrified because no matter how reliable my own mind and eyes were, I had the feeling that I _didn't want _to believe myself.

That's pretty abnormal and out-of-this-world for a rational thinker like me.

Koko spoke up next, but I understood that he had trouble when it came to sympathy and concern. "I-I'm sorry that Sakura was your friend."

"I just don't get why she'd do it, though," Kitsuneme muttered, voicing one of my deepest thoughts aloud. He closed his (creepy slit) eyes and sighed.

Maybe I could trust the three of them now that we discovered the identity of the killer. "Okay. I myself was thinking about that, and I _think_ that I remember something important from Germany."

Groggily, I sat up while massaging my temples. Sumire, Koko, and Kitsuneme inched closer to me and gave me their pillows. I breathed sharply and recounted the details of the flight from Japan to Berlin.

"Sumire, remember when we were together on the plane? One of our seatmates was Mikan," I discreetly asked for her confirmation, and she responded with a nod. "When the both of you were asleep, Mikan kept saying things about something called 'Organization Z'."

The three of them scrunched up their noses and wondered how on Earth that was connected to our 'hopeless' case, but after a few moments Koko perked up and elbowed Kitsuneme.

Kitsu responded with a glare and a tug at his backpack. He fished his phone out and mumbled, "Luckily for you, I've been taking a lot of pictures."

He showed us a blurry but recognizable snapshot of the bloody interior of one of the rooms on the fourth floor of the hotel. There was a humongous 'Z' written on the wall using the crimson liquid.

Sumire exclaimed, "Yes! I saw that too, when I was trying to inspect the whole of the area. It was in room 401 or 402, I think, and back then my main suspect was Anna."

"So what must be the intentions of that Organization Z, if one of its members is Mikan Sakura?" I queried, feeling queasy at the sound of my 'best friend's' name.

Koko scratched the back of his head, Kitsuneme frowned at his phone, and Sumire stared at the headboard behind me, as if spotting the smallest imperfection it had. I lay down again in desperation and thought of something so absurd yet possible at the same time.

"Let's," I paused for a second, "search the Internet."

Because all of us were in a despondent situation, we mentally agreed to my idea. Apart from my hardbound notebooks, I brought a Macbook Air- not to brag, of course, but it did seem helpful in certain occasions.

I typed in 'Organization Z' and came up with the following results: a) a teenage dance group located in North America; b) a rumored arm of the Illuminati; and c) "we are the organization z and you shall not gain any knowledge about us". While Koko and Kitsu found the results amusing, I slumped on the bed and groaned in frustration.

Sumire, on the other hand, snatched the laptop and typed in 'Organization Z in Japan'. She focused her eyes on the screen, and after scouring several pages in Google, read out loud, "Z- complete name is Organization ZQMMYS. We are sorry to inform you that the archives about Z no longer exist."

"ZQMMYS? You have got to be kidding me," Kitsu peered at the screen and wondered out loud. "I suppose it's gibberish."

"Or a code," Koko said. "Or an acronym."

Sumire flashed a thumbs-up sign and grinned at Koko. "Now you're beginning to actually think. We can't rearrange the letters even when they have vowel pairs, because I think that an organization is most likely based on a name. About the acronym, though, the main members of the organization may have put their names together. The fact that no information exists may be a sign that the organization had been against the law."

The three of them bobbed their heads in unison, as if reassuring themselves that they knew every answer to each problem that surfaced. I didn't feel too reassured, because all of my knowledge from mystery novels had me doubting the coincidence of the double M in ZQMMYS.

I tore a page from my notebook, not caring how indecent it seemed, and began listing the alphabet vertically. My three 'allies', if that's what I was supposed to call them, shot me skeptical looks as my fingers shook slightly.

"Don't freak out," I told them, but I was telling myself the same thing. "If what Sumire says about the illegal organization is correct, then I presume that this is a simple Caesar cipher."

Koko stubbornly smiled. "Isn't Caesar the one who killed Brutus?"

"That's not the point, but you're wrong, by the way," Sumire clarified for me. "Caesar cipher is a code which uses letters to represent other letters. For example, 'jhkk' is a code for 'kill'. All of the letters were used to represent the letters one notch below them."

"Right," I said, underlining the letters Z, Q, M, Y, and S in my vertical list. I gave them the piece of paper and said, "If you move the letters down by eighteen notches…"

Koko snatched the pen from me and started counting, while Sumire and Kitsuneme counted mentally. They each gave me a horrified expression when they had finished. "You're not serious, are you?"

"I- I don't know," I muttered into the pillow, wishing that I were asleep instead of having to deal with all of this. For Pete's sake, I wanted to be a five year old kid who threw tantrums whenever he wanted to go home. I desperately _needed _to go home.

"I can't believe this," Kitsuneme reiterated with the widening of his (slit) eyes. "Organization HYUUGA? Dude, I swear I'm positive that you're the killer, but it doesn't make sense because you're the one who's giving us all the clues."

Sumire looked at me hesitantly, and there was a cloud of fear in her irises. No matter how suspicious I was, she couldn't help but trust me- the same way that I trusted Mikan, even until now. "Whatever you say, I still believe you. We have an important lead that only you could pursue."

Koko and Kitsuneme pretended to gag when Sumire cupped my face in her smooth hands and gazed directly at my crimson eyes. "I need you to remember everything that happened when you were a kid, and everything you know about your parents."

All I can picture of my family was their happiness before I attended camp. It was difficult to imagine dark secrets underneath my parents' renowned name in the corporate world- it was difficult to assume that I didn't know my family at all. In spite of all the killings that had happened, I couldn't have the courage to think that Hyuuga Enterprises had a secret organization that intended to eliminate all its business rivals.

"That's it," I murmured aloud, startling the trio's deep thoughts. "All of you are children of executives, right? And all of your companies have never been in partnership with the Hyuuga Enterprises."

Kitsuneme snapped his fingers. "They're killing all of the heirs."

A shrill scream pierced through the air, and for a second I thought that I was _really _going to have a heart attack now. Koko's phone was the culprit for the haunted house-like noise, and he apologized sheepishly. "Whoa, it's thirty minutes past midnight. Oh-dark-thirty."

"I'm too lazy," Sumire bit her tongue, "or should I say, _scared_ to get out of this cabin. Maybe we should sleep in for tonight. I'll take the bed."

She earned glares, but the green-haired girl raised her chin defiantly and refused to move out of the bed. "Girls are considered as priorities."Sumire pressed her leg firmly to the mattress and shot us authoritative scowls.

Too bad for her, we were, after all, three males in the midst of puberty. Not that I'm saying that we had super strength, but tossing her out of the bed was clearly the best way to lighten up our drastic situation.

In the end, we resolved that I and Kitsuneme were sleeping on the floor while Koko and Sumire were on the bed (with a wall of pillows separating them). Normally I wouldn't have given up what was rightfully mine (it was _my _cabin, after all), but Sumire just wouldn't budge and insisted that we should also respect modern chivalry which, in this case, is the act of trying to proceed to dreamland on the cold hard floor.

"Hey, Kitsu, can you close the lights?" Koko muttered in half-lidded tiredness.

Sumire smacked him with her pillow. "You don't know whether the killer- I mean Mikan- is going to come back to finish us for good."

To be honest, I wanted Mikan to come back because I would have the chance to confront her- why she did this, and how she became involved with Organization Z. The more I pictured our confrontation, the more I saw myself dying by her hand- I imagined her looking at me with those stealthy eyes devoid of any fear or mercy, the same way she looked at me earlier. As crazy as it sounds, I refuse to believe that Mikan was the killer even though I saw her with my own two eyes.

Kitsuneme yawned beside me and groaned when his head hit the bedside table. "Sumire's idea is fine, thank you very much."

What's weirder, by the way, was the fact that I doubted Mikan _less _than my parents. Instead of drifting off to sleep, I stared at the ceiling and recalled Mikan's cherry blossom tattoo on her wrist, her interest in German air force, and the mystery novels that my Dad let me read when I was younger.

"_There's always a reason for everything_," his familiar words haunted me. Had he prepared me for this? If so, what was I about to discover?

Will finding out the answers cost me my life?

I crossed my hands over my chest and took deep breaths. There had to be some connection between Mikan's tattoo and the organization. If the military had insignias, does the organization use tattoos to determine the ranks of its members? It was clearly a weak hypothesis, but every assumption nowadays was vital if we wanted to live.

"Natsume," Sumire startled me by poking the top of my head. "Forget about it for a while, we've got a long day tomorrow- rather, later."

"I can't, not with everything that's been happening," I confessed.

Sumire sighed and rested her chin on the pillow she was embracing. "I-I'm sorry. You're too young – we're too young for all of this, and even as a certified police officer, I can't help but be scared. I'm a teenager too, after all."

She paused briefly and directed her eyes towards the blank ceiling. "But I know it's harder for you, because it's inevitable."

"What's inevitable?" I murmured.

With a huff, she said, "Sooner or later, you'll have to betray your family."

The moment she turned to her side and tried her hardest to sleep, my palms grew sweaty. I knew she was right, after all.

* * *

It became a routine of ours- wake up, take a bath, slip on some comfortable clothes, proceed to the airport, travel to another European country, and witness another murder. However, when we proceeded to Paris, France, no one had been killed yet. Eight hours had already passed since our arrival in the City of Love.

City of Love. How ironic, since I hardly felt any emotion now that I had been involved in a killing spree. The Eiffel Tower loomed in the distance, and while Sumire, Kitsuneme, and Koko squealed and pointed at the marvelous sights, I sulked in the corner of the tour bus. I couldn't even bother to count how many of us were left.

_Mikan_, I remembered again, and a sickly feeling settled on the bottom of my stomach like bitter ginger ale. Whatever my hypothalamus was producing right now was not a hormone for hatred. For once, I could admit that I felt definitely hurt.

She was probably here in Paris, too. We stepped out of the bus and took pictures of the iconic Eiffel Tower, but I never bothered to set my sight upon it. Soon, we boarded the bus again and traveled to the Louvre.

That was when things got pretty interesting.

Sumire must have sensed that something important was going to be revealed in the museum- I don't know why but it was pure instinct, kind of like what preys feel when their blood-thirsty predators come around. Koko, Kitsuneme, Sumire, and I lifted our heads up at the chalice-like glass structure of the Louvre entrance.

"Wow," Kitsuneme breathed in. "I never thought I'd live to see this place."

"It seems so out of place, though. The pyramid lying on the center of Baroque buildings," Koko commented. He walked towards the inside of the Louvre and hid the camera in his pocket. We headed directly to the Paintings curatorial department and walked down the long winding corridors. What struck me most was the Renaissance collection, particularly the Mona Lisa.

Mona Lisa had this knowing smile, and I couldn't quite figure out if she was being sarcastic or not. According to _The Da Vinci Code_, Mona Lisa was actually an embodiment of both the man and woman, which means that the woman in the painting was probably two-faced, just like Mikan.

I couldn't resist thinking about _her _again.

My thoughts were interrupted by the curator tapping us on the shoulder. Apparently, Sumire had touched the Mona Lisa - _touched_, for Pete's sake, and we ended up getting kicked out of the most famous museum in the world. Koko grumbled and Sumire tried to explain why running her hands over a globally renowned painting was a smart move.

"Listen," she hissed, taking out a piece of paper and making random dots. "It happened to be an intelligent coincidence, because there were strange circular marks on the Mona Lisa."

Koko and Kitsuneme laughed together. "So you're saying that Mona Lisa has pimples? Wow, very nice deduction."

_Circular marks…_hidden dots, dots which could only be perceived through the touch of the which couldn't possibly be perceived with the naked eyes.

"Braille," Sumire blurted, showing us the dots which she drew on the piece of paper. "This is the language of the blind, and it happens to say 'air force'. I think that someone has gone around spreading clues _for us_."

"Air force…Mikan seemed to be so interested in the Luftwaffe in the plane," I said. We exchanged meaningful glances, and I cleared my throat. "Maybe there are more clues left lying around the Louvre, but we can't go there anymore."

"I am certainly not going in with a disguise," Sumire held her hands up in surrender and ran to a nearby coffee shop. The caffeine would help in brainstorming, and the three of us left in front of the museum had no choice but to follow.

We had to deal with the separate case here in Paris with just 'air force' as a clue. What if the message hadn't been intended for us? This was the gravest mistake anyone could make- jumping to conclusions without sufficient proof. But it was all that we had as a lead, so I'll make an exception.

I Googled the French air force and came up with the _Istres Le Tube Air Base_ located near Marseilles, France. It was a large repair and training facility, and it also accommodated the French Navy. I caught the words _Special Ammunition Storage_ and swallowed.

Sumire emerged from the shop with a steaming cup of coffee. She frowned at me and looked at my phone's search results. "You are _not _suggesting the idea of going to an air base. And the fact that they have _nuclear weapons_-"

"Suicide," Koko agreed.

If there was one chance to discover the truth, then this was it, no matter how far-fetched the idea of the air force may seem. "We're just going to interview some people, no worries. I assure you that there will be no handling of guns and such."

"Besides," I added, "we have Sumire as a police officer here. I'm sure she can handle it." I smiled to emphasize my point, but they seemed terrified because this was the first time that I actually smiled at them. Forget being cheery, I was probably better off with a permanent scowl.

We found ourselves hitchhiking to Marseilles (with the help of our last names, of course) and walked (yes, we freaking walked) to the Istres Air Base. After hours of complaints and wrong directions, we arrived in the large air base stinking of sweat.

A lot of the officers must have been wondering why the hell four teenagers magically appeared in a secluded place where the French conducted their military operations. Roundel designs were ubiquitous in the air base, signifying the traditional French cockade.

I recognized a stern-looking blonde man to be the Chief of Staff Air Force. The President of France was the overall head for all military operations, but we had to take the risk in order to find out what the clues meant, and how the air force was related to the Organization Z.

Nervously, I put on my best stance and shook hands with the Chief. He eyed me closely and spoke in a thick French accent. "What brings you here, Mr. Hyuuga?"

"You know me?" I sputtered in disbelief but quickly regained my composure. "Ah, I mean, we've come here to inquire about a certain Organization Z." My fingers trembled and my three companions hid behind me.

The Chief raised his eyebrow. "I do not know what you are talking about. Send my regards to your father," he said, talking to the man beside him, who must have been the airbase commander of Istres. He brought his hand up for a salute and quickly turned around to leave.

"Wait," Sumire croaked. "Do you happen to know a certain Mikan Sakura?"

The Chief froze in his tracks. He took long strides towards me and fisted my collar. "Has it begun? Has the organization taken out the metyrapone again?"

"S-sir, what has begun-"

"The continuation of its plans, of course," the Chief's hard stare lingered on my face. "The calling of its missing agents from five years ago."

Sumire nodded at me, signaling that she knew where this was heading. "Is Mikan Sakura one of those missing agents, sir?"

He released me for a moment and pulled us to what seemed like his office. The Chief ran his fingers through glistening mane. "Swear on your life, Mr. Hyuuga, that you will not tell anything. I believe that it is not my duty to tell you this, but I am so ashamed that I haven't been able to save Agent Sakura from her terrible fate."

_Mikan…terrible fate…all because of Organization Z._

"Years ago, your parents formed the Organization Z in order to gain control over the Japanese economy," the Chief began. "At first it hired spies in order to extract information, and it was completely harmless. As the operations carried on, the rival companies of Hyuuga Enterprises unraveled the espionage and played their dirty tricks as well."

"So how could the Hyuugas regain power? Democracy, absolutely not. Dictatorship? More likely. Your parents invested in ammunitions in order to scare everyone who stood in their way, but even they could not control the greater desires of the commanders they hired for the training of the spies."

"A certain commander once visited neighborhoods in search for boys who had the potential of carrying on the goals and objectives of Organization Z. _You_, Natsume, was supposed to be part of it, but your father hid you in your vacation house in Italy. I'm assuming that's where you first encountered Mikan Sakura."

I nodded, losing every ounce of strength I had left.

"Mikan's father happened to pass by your house, bringing Mikan along. That was when your own father realized that he could use a little girl in order to fill your place as a spy, because he himself was terrified of the commanders in his own organization. So he kidnapped little Mikan and she began her training to become the greatest spy of Organization Z. They injected large doses of metyrapone into her blood so she could forget _all_ of her memories."

"One night, while she was stationed here in the French airbase, a scientist messed up with the metyrapone doses and produced a reverse medicine instead. Mikan took it without knowing, and in her rage regarding her forgotten memories and her life full of lies, she blew up a whole airbase."

I found the need for fresh air after the whole story. Mikan couldn't have been in the organization if _I _joined instead. This camp wouldn't have happened, and nobody else could have died. It was my fault.

The Chief looked at me wistfully and placed his hand over my cold ones. "Her real name is Mikan Yukihara, and Sakura is just the name after her insignia. The organization's operations halted for a while, and they realized that they needed Mikan again, thus the reverse metyrapone. They're making her remember that she was a spy, and because the drug had strong effects, it causes the user to revert to the past and think as if he or she is still living in history."

Koko shook his head and muttered _bullshit_ under his breath. "How the hell would _you_ know all of this?"

The Chief opened his mouth to speak. "I…I was one of the commanders. Specifically-"

Beads of sweat lined our foreheads. My crimson eyes locked with the Chief's purple ones, and there was something unreadable in those irises. The Chief was vague and impossible to figure out- was that part of his military training?

_Click. _I mistook the sound for the click of a lighter, but I knew that the Chief was not, in any way, a smoker. Instead, I saw a gun touching my cold forehead gently, and I heard gasps and pleas from behind me.

The Chief removed his hat and shook his slightly long blond tresses down his shoulder. He smiled and winked at me nefariously while pressing the gun further to my skin. The copper-cased bullets seemed to be inches away from my throbbing brain which exploded from my desperation to find a way out of this.

Narumi grinned with his perfect set of pearly whites. "I was the commander who ordered the operations to continue."

* * *

**Uh **concrits, please? Thanks for reading Chapter Seven!


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